


Still Something

by zeldadestry



Category: The River (Song)
Genre: Community: 100_women, F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights I wake up and he's not there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Something

**Author's Note:**

> prompt 75, "fall", for 100_women fanfic challenge

It's not like I don't trust him, not like I think he's got some new girl on the side.  
I just wonder, that's all. I just wonder where he goes and why he won't talk to me about it.  
It's not even that often. But some nights I wake up and he's not there.  
I go through the house, peek in on each of the kids.  
Usually I find him out on the porch, having a cigarette.  
He was supposed to quit. It's not good for the kids, he knows that, the doctor told us flat out. It sets a bad example for the kids, too. And every little bit of money we don't spend helps. But he's been real good about never smoking inside, so I don't say anything.  
But sometimes he's nowhere I can find him.  
Sometimes he's just gone.  
Car's in the driveway, so he's not going far.  
Days are shorter, nights getting colder. Summer's fading.  
He's not out on the porch. Tonight's one of those nights when he's disappeared.  
One of my sisters says she still loves her husband, she still thinks he's coming back. The rest of us don't hold out any hope for that. She's better off without him, anyway. She'll realize that someday.  
My other sister told me she doesn't love her husband any more. She says she doesn't know if she ever did.  
I don't tell them anything.  
I wear my ring and I keep my promises.  
I see him before he sees me. He's walking slow down the driveway, kicking up bits of gravel with the toes of his boots. His hood is pulled up and his hands are in his pockets and he's looking down. I get up from the stairs, wave to him, though he doesn't notice. "Hey," I say, not too loud, would hate to wake the kids. His head snaps up, and he hurries to me. "What are you doing out here? You ok? Everything ok?"  
"Yeah, yeah, nothing's wrong."  
"Good." He puts his arms around me when he reaches me. "Cold out here. What were you thinking, mama?"  
"Don't know. Waiting for you. Looking at all the stars."  
He looks up, one of his hands running up and down my back. "Yeah. It's a clear night."  
I rest my head on his shoulder. He doesn't smell like alcohol, doesn't even smell like smoke. He doesn't smell like perfume or cologne, or anything but himself, really, faded sweat, like when he used to kiss me when he came home from a long day at work. "Where did you go?" I murmur against his neck.  
His hand stops moving, rests at the small of my back. "Took a walk, that's all. Nothing to worry about."  
"I know. But where?"  
"Why's it matter, Mary?" He pulls away so I can look at him. He's smiling. "You don't trust me?"  
"That ain't it."  
"Then what?"  
"Why you got to keep secrets?"  
"There's no secret!"  
"Then why won't you tell me?" He won't, though, I know he won't. It makes me shiver.  
"Come on," he says, putting an arm around my waist and steering me to the front door. "It's too cold out here for you." He takes a shower before coming to bed, and I lie there waiting for him. When the door opens he's only in his boxers and he moves quickly to get under the covers. "Too early in the damn year to feel like winter," he complains.  
I move closer to him, close my eyes, take my fingers and run them up and down his arm. I remember when I knew nothing about men. It was only a few years ago. I always thought he was a man, different from the other boys at school. I told you I knew nothing. All men are boys, they never change. "I love you," I say, I say it every night.  
"Love you too," he repeats.  
But I think that maybe he doesn't understand I don't just say it. I say it because I mean it. I say it because once you tear the pretty pink bow and the sparkly wrapping off of your life, I mean once you rip away the dream, there's still something left. It ain't what you thought it would be, hoped it would be, it ain't what you wanted, but it's still something. You take a woman, a girl, and you put her in a white dress and you call her a bride. You take a man and put him in a fancy coat and you call him a groom, but he's still a boy. I know what it is. I've raised two kids and they can run and skip and jump. But they started out crawling, course they did, like we all do. Start out crawling and you gotta learn to stand and you gotta learn to walk and it's stumble after stumble and you just keep on until you get it. "I love you more than I did back then," I whisper and I kiss him and his arms hold me so tight, tight like I can't even get the space to breathe, tight like he used to hold me in the middle of the night, so many years ago it seems, but close, so close if I stop to count.  
He pulls away but only to say, "I went down to the river."


End file.
